Close, but No Dice
by RedKaddict
Summary: -Ace in the Hole 2- Tony Higgins has been 16 for over a hundred years. He also has a lucky streak like Domino's. Can Logan help him face his dark past? Can they both learn to cope with the changes of time that don't affect either of them?
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Close, but No Dice**  
Author:** RedKaddict**  
Category:** X-Men: The Movie**  
Rating:** K+ (may go up)**  
Warnings:** AU, technically X-over**  
Genre:** Drama, Mystery**  
Summary:** Ace of Spades has been running from his dark past almost as long as Logan has. The difference is, he actually remembers it. All of it. After living on the streets for over a hundred years, with the help of his seemingly lucky streak, he's been taken in by Professor Xavier in an attempt to unlock the secrets of his past and help him cope with the change that never seems to affect him. Sequel of sorts to What Time Can't Change.**  
Disclaimer:** I do not own X-Men, not a one of them (sadly). What's even more sad is the fact that I don't even own Spades. *gasp* I know, right? I do own the name, though. And apparently I have a monopoly on this idea. So there! :P**  
Note:** I'm gonna make this short, since my author's notes have been notoriously long lately. GAH! Okay, this is FINALLY the follow-up story to my oneshot, What Time Can't Change. You don't have to have read that one to get this one in the slightest, because I plan on reiterating everything that happened. Also, this is (as you may have noticed) technically a crossover. But I'm not listing it as such, because really I just took a character from something else and used him as the inspiration for Spades. Therefore, if you have absolutely no clue who he is or where he came from, then you're as in the dark as the other characters and we can all just pretend that I actually own Tony Higgins. Won't that be fun? :)

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Chapter 1

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

Spades rolled over and slapped the alarm clock with an irritated groan. This was most certainly _not_ how he liked to start his mornings. Although, in his currently hazed state of mind, he was having difficulty remembering the last time he woke up in a bed. Or, more specifically, the last time he woke up in a _house_. With a _family_. The thought, if nothing else, brought a small smile to his face.

One that was quickly doused when he heard pounding on the door. A man's voice was shouting on the other side. "Piotr? Anthony? Breakfast."

Spades gave another groan and rolled onto his side, watching his roommate shift his pillows around and go back to sleep. He was thinking of doing the same when another voice sounded at the door. It was Bobby this time. "Pete? Tony? Come on, there ain't gonna be anything left if you don't hurry!" The first voice – now muffled, as it was coming from further down the hall – could be heard correcting him, and then Bobby's annoyed "Yes, Mr. Summers." He sighed, and Spades was pretty sure he was rolling his eyes. "There _won't_ be anything left," Bobby corrected himself. "So hurry up!"

Mumbling something incoherent – in what Spades could only guess was Russian – Piotr Rasputin pushed himself into a sitting position and stretched. When he caught sight of Spades watching him, he chuckled. "Morning, Short Stuff," he yawned.

"Yeah, yeah," Spades muttered, too groggy to come up with a more smart-alec response so early in the morning. He rolled unceremoniously to the floor and pulled himself up to his full height, trying to stretch and rub his eyes at the same time. It was a rather comical display. He glanced down at the muscular man, who was once again rolled up in his comforter and trying to doze. "Hey, look," he smirked, his full-blown Brooklyn coming out strong. "I'm taller'n you."

Peter grinned and smacked him with a pillow. "You wish, _nuovo scolaro._"

This was met by a decidedly odd look. "If ya gonna insult me in my own language," Spades said pointedly, "at least learn ta _pronounce_ it right."

At this, Peter pretended to look hurt. "I thought I was!"

"You's definitely workin' on it. But no dice." He couldn't help but smile to himself as he made his way out the door and down the hall. Most people – those who didn't have the pleasure of knowing Peter Rasputin personally – would be scared half to death just talking to such a big guy, let alone insulting his Italian. Spades had picked up pretty quickly that the guy was really nothing but a big teddy bear. Why on earth they'd thought to have _him_, probably the shortest kid at the school, room with someone as big as Peter was beyond him.

Not that he was complaining in the least. After all, it'd been quite some time since someone had taken him in. Living on the streets was tough. Even if you'd been doing it for as long as he had. He slipped into the boys' dorm bathroom and stood in front of one of the sinks, splashing cold water on his face. Unfortunately he hadn't seen who else was there, and when he reached for a towel, he slipped and fell, nearly smacking his head on the sink beside him.

Nearly. Luckily, he didn't.

A nasally laugh sounded from somewhere above him as he lay sprawled out on the tile floor, his face still covered in soapy water. _Quire_, he thought distastefully. He pushed himself up quickly, trying to wipe the suds away from his eyes so he could see. "Ya mind maybe passin' me da towel ya got dere?" he asked slowly, his voice a little strained. It wasn't that he was afraid of Quentin. He just really didn't want to get kicked out for getting in a fight with a younger boy.

A _much_ younger boy.

Quentin laughed, but remained at his perch on the cabinet he'd been standing on, waving the towel like a flag over Spades' head. "One of these days, Shorty," he laughed. "One of these days, your luck's gonna run out." He grabbed Spades roughly by the hair and shoved him back, sending him once more sprawling on the floor.

"That's enough, Quentin."

Startled, the boy jumped down from the cabinet, tossing the towel down in front of him. "We were just having some fun, Logan," he shrugged. "Right, Tony?"

Spades didn't answer as Quentin slipped out the door, heading off to the cafeteria. Humiliated, he sat up and started wiping soap off his face. "You alright?" Logan asked, kneeling down next to him.

"Fine," he muttered in reply, pulling himself to his feet and tossing the offending scrap of cloth onto the cabinet. "Ain't what it used ta be…"

"What's that?"

"Nuttin'." Spades gave a sigh and picked at his hair, trying to smooth it into something resembling presentable.

Logan shook his head. "How come you just let him push you around like that?"

"What'm I s'posed ta do?" Spades snapped. "Beat 'im up fer it?"

"You could try tellin' people the truth."

"Yeah? An' what good'll dat do me?"

"I don't know," Logan admitted, after a slight pause. "Maybe knowing what you've gone through will… I don't know, make them respect you more?"

"I ain't lookin' fer nobody's respect." Spades had given up on his hair and was now leaning over the sink, shoulders slumped. "Just lookin' fer a place ta stay fer a while."

"You're looking for a place to _belong_. We all are." This caused Spades to glance up, locking eyes with Logan for a moment. A small grin spread on his face. "Come on," Logan said after a moment. "You'll miss breakfast."

As they exited the bathroom, they met Storm coming down the hall toward them, on her way to the cafeteria. "Good morning, boys," she greeted with a warm smile. Falling into step beside them, she gave slight chuckle. "Here," she said, a motherly tone lacing her voice as she touched Spades on the shoulder to bring him to a halt. "Let's see if we can do something with this mess." A sheepish, lopsided grin tugged the corner of his mouth up as she ran her long fingers through his thick, dark hair, smoothing a few errant curls.

Then she noticed his rumpled clothing. "You slept in your clothes again?" The sheepish look became even more so as he ducked his head. "Spades, you do know you own more than one set of clothes now, right?"

"Yeah," he murmured. "I's still getting' used ta dat."

"Hey, cut the kid a break," Logan said good-naturedly. "Street life's tough on a guy his size, right Race?" Storm shot him a puzzled look, to which he quickly corrected himself. "Ace. I meant Ace."

She smiled as the three continued on down the hall. "Ace of Spades," she mused. "How did you earn a name like that?"

With a small grin that almost seemed forced, Spades sighed. "Ain't dat a story…"

* * *

**A/N:** Next chapter: Tony spills... well, something. With this heat wave affecting my ability to think, it'll most likely be orange juice or something along those lines... Anyway, please review. It would be greatly appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Hey, look at me! I'm updating! So my brother and I brainstormed this story for like an hour today and came up with a crap ton of plot material. I'm excited. Like, really seriously excited. I've already got plans for a sequel. Hopefully I'll get that far. You'll also notice I changed the summary. The story hasn't changed at all, I just didn't like the first one very much. Anyway, this chapter introduces a character you might not see much of. Depends on how easy it is to actually write him. But yeah, Skip is a timestepper who can't control his ability (so named because he "skips" through time), and once again I do not own him. Sadly. In fact, I don't think there will be any OCs in this story at all. Cuz Target's not mine either, and he'll be showing up soon... Anyhow, hope you enjoy this! Many, many, many thanks to FaithDaria for reviewing my first chapter!! :) I love you!

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**Chapter 2**

_1937_

_It's horrible out here,_ Skip thought to himself, running a hand through his thick brown hair and looking around as he wandered the cold, dead streets of New York City. _Absolutely horrible. What happened?_ It'd been exactly nine minutes since his last jump. He'd walked exactly two hundred thirty-seven feet from his jump site, and he was still in shock. _Okay, let's take a breath here._ He inhaled deeply and let it out slowly. Jumping still left him a little disoriented. This was only his third.

And then it slammed him in the face, and he broke down right there. He thought he'd got all this done with in '26, when he'd found out about his brother. But something about the jump, and only six months later, brought it rushing back. His brother was gone. Killed in the big war. Why? Why'd his brother have to go and be such a hero?

He had no family left now. Not that they'd take him back even if they were still here. Who'd want a freak for a son anyway? Wiping his face, he turned and walked slowly down the street, glancing briefly at the cold and hungry faces around him. Homeless and jobless people everywhere. _He_ had to be here somewhere. Skip was sure of it. _He_ had no family either.

But he'd been searching for so long, and so far no sign. The kid didn't leave a trace, that was for sure. He _had_ to be alive still. He just _had_ to. Skip had been the first to notice. There was something different, something special. But then he'd had his first jump, and four years later they'd… No, he wasn't going to think about what they'd done.

"Let's see," he mumbled, ticking off on his fingers. "Oh six. Sixteen. Six months. Twenty-six. February… Thirty-seven. So… One and a half years older, thirty years away." He sighed, shaking his head. He'd gotten very good at doing the math in his head since the jumps started. "Fifty-four. If I'm wrong, I'll never recognize him."

But he had six months to try. And he was pretty sure he wasn't wrong. Which meant he had just about the rest of his life to look. From the way things seemed to be going, it was gonna be an awful long search…

* * *

Kitty Pride sat and watched the dark-haired Italian boy a couple tables down, picking at his bagel. Something seemed to be bothering him. Bobby was relating some fascinating tale to the rest seated at their table, but she wasn't paying much attention. Then the new kid's dark eyes caught her gaze and he gave a shy smile, showing a mouthful of crowded teeth. The look in his eyes was so time-worn, almost ancient; it made her breath catch in her throat. Somehow, she thought, it suited him just perfectly.

She was shaken out of her trance when Rogue nudged her with an elbow, gesturing pointedly over to him. Kitty just blinked for a moment, then shrugged, waving the little Italian over. At first he didn't seem to get it, but when Rogue also waved, he picked up his plate and glass, meandering over to their table and sliding into an empty seat between Warren and Bobby.

"Hey," Rogue greeted him warmly. He smiled and nodded in reply. "You're Pete's new roommate. Tony, right?"

He nodded again. "Yeah. Ace'a Spades." Something about his voice made Kitty's stomach flutter. She couldn't quite place his accent.

"I'm Rogue. And I absorb powers, so…" She hesitated, holding up a gloved hand for emphasis. "Best not to touch my skin."

He flashed his crowded smile again. "I'll keep dat in mind." Brooklyn, that was it.

Bobby quickly took over the introductions. "Well obviously you already know Pete, and we met in class. That there's Warren. We call him Angel."

Spades snickered as he nodded at Warren's wings. "Can't imagine why," he said, nudging at Warren's shoulder.

Bobby chuckled as he continued. "That's Jubilee. She makes fireworks." This was answered by a swift kick under the table from Jubilee, which Bobby pointedly ignored. "And this is Shadowcat."

"Kitty Pride," she corrected quickly, her cheeks burning slightly. She'd never cared much for the codename.

To avoid seeming rude, she reached across the table to shake his hand. Spades returned the gesture, managing somehow to knock his glass of orange juice off the table in the process. He swore under his breath, then quickly apologized as he bent over to pick up the now-empty glass, his face turning an interesting shade of scarlet. Rogue smiled. "It's alright, sugar," she intoned sweetly when he was once again upright, a knowing smile spreading on her face. To Bobby's rather confused look, she gave a surreptitious wink. "So," she went on. "What is it you do?"

"Oh, dat." Spades scratched the back of his neck nervously. "Well, things just kinda go my way, ya know? But not by accident. It's like I's lucky or somethin'."

Jubes glanced critically at the sticky mess on the floor, but decided not to say anything until she noticed him picking again at his bagel. "What's the matter?" she asked. "Don't like cream cheese?"

With an easy roll of his shoulders, he turned to her. "Nah, ain't dat. I just ain't used to it, is all."

"Not used to it? What do you mean?" Peter sounded very interested.

"Well, ya see, I was livin' in dis foster home fer a while, an' deir son was some kinda allergic to it or somethin'. So we never had it in da house, an' I wasn't allowed ta touch it neither. Pretty much any kinda cheese or milk or dat kinda stuff."

"How long ago was that?" Rogue asked curiously.

"Well, let's see." He paused, closing one eye and staring up at the ceiling with the other as he thought. "Dey kicked me out in '94, when dey finally figured out I was… different." Again, he shrugged his shoulders. "Kinda was livin' on da streets afta dat, so it wasn't really a priority."

"Wait a minute." Jubes had her brows scrunched up as she tried to do the math. "'94, that was sixteen years ago." Spades nodded, then dropped his gaze as she stared at him. "Most of _us_ aren't much older than that. And you don't look like you _are_ any older than that. So what gives?"

Another shrug, but when he answered his voice was a little strained. "I haven't aged since I was sixteen. 'M a lot older'n I look."

"_How_ much older?" she pressed. Shifting uncomfortably under her gaze, he ducked his head and mumbled something incoherent. "What was that?"

"Hun'red an' eleven," he said at last, keeping his gaze on the table. He took a shuddering breath, then continued. "I's born in 1883. I stopped aging when I's sixteen, right afta my lucky streak kicked in. Summer'a 1899 was da last I remember feelin' any kinda normal."

Kitty felt her heart go out to him. Obviously there was something painful about his past that he didn't like remembering. But her curiosity was getting the better of her, too. "Did you have a family?" she asked softly.

"Not really," he replied. "I mean, I know I had one at one point, but I don't 'member dem very well. Not my parents, anyways. Spent most'a my life livin' on da streets."

"Must've been exciting," Jubes gushed, resting her chin in her hands.

Warren chuckled. "So what triggered it?" he asked. When Spades' only reply was a thoroughly confused look, he explained, "They say the mutation is triggered by heightened emotion. So what was it that triggered yours?"

A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as Spades remembered. Then his face darkened and all traces of the smile disappeared. "We stopped da world."

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**Author's Note:** There's an excellent explanation for why I stopped it there. And the answer is... Uh, the conversation was getting away from me and I couldn't figure out how to wrap it up without it sounding filler-ish or cheesy. So, since the chapter was up to its quota of 1k words, I just stopped. Not an inconvenient place to stop either. Anyhow, told you he'd spill. Yeah. FaithDaria, if you'd like to toss guesses about Skip's identity my way, I can't guarantee a positive answer, but you're welcome to try. :) Um... Yeah. Hopefully the next chapter's better. Please review! It makes me happy!


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** I know, it's been a long time since I've posted to this story. It's not my fault! It would please me greatly if you would direct your complaints to Dino Paparelli and Vincent Delpino, after all they are the ones responsible... Anyway, I'm hoping the length of this chapter helps make up for it. It's so long because at first it was too short, so I kept going, and then it just kinda ran away, and I was having trouble wrapping up the conversation... You'll see some resemblance here to What Time Can't Change. More smoking and talking and whatnot. You'll also get a decent idea of what Tony's been up to, and what happened. For anyone who doesn't know, Tony was a newspaper boy during the strike of 1899 in New York City. At the time, he was known only as Racetrack. Don't believe me? He actually existed, go look him up! Of course, I don't think his name was actually Tony, and I highly doubt he was a mutant, but you know... Most of the other boys he mentions actually existed too, as well as the Brooklyn Bridge rally that stopped traffic into the city. Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter. The plot's picking up!

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**Chapter 3**

"You know something!"

Rogue giggled as Jubes took advantage of Bobby's momentary distraction and flicked the foosball into the boys' goal. Tucking a strand of platinum hair behind her ear, she glanced over to the other side of the rec room where Spades and Kitty were seated on a couch, having what seemed to be an engaging conversation. When she was sure they couldn't hear her, she motioned him and Warren closer. "Kitty likes the new kid," she whispered conspiratorially.

Bobby cocked one eyebrow and glanced over at the couple seated on the couch. While he still looked to be a little uneasy, Spades did seem more comfortable around Kitty than he had at breakfast. Other than that, he saw nothing more than an innocent conversation taking place. "You sure?" Bobby asked softly, leaning in.

Rogue nodded emphatically. "Positive. See the way the corner of her mouth twitches up when he talks? And how she keeps twirling her hair around her finger? And every time he smiles, she practically melts."

Warren rolled his eyes. "Only a girl could possibly catch all that."

"Which is precisely the problem," she shot back. "He's completely oblivious! Typical male." She sighed, rolling her eyes in exasperation.

"He may be oblivious," Pete interjected, observing his roommate carefully, "but if you ask me, I'd say the feeling is reciprocated."

"What do you mean?"

"He really is extraordinarily lucky. And from what I've seen, he's not usually the shy type."

"So?"

"So how do you account for the orange juiceincident this morning?"

Bobby snickered and placed a hand gently on Rogue's back as the realization hit her. "He's got a point. I think the little guy has it pretty bad for her."

"If that's the case," Warren piped up, "then there's one problem."

"I don't see how there can be _any_ problem here," Jubilee scoffed.

"That's where you're wrong." He shifted a little uncomfortably, his wings rustling softly with the movement. "You guys forget already? He doesn't age. If you ask me, I think that's a little bit of a problem…"

* * *

As their conversation wound down, Kitty cursed herself for her curiosity. Since Spades had seemed reluctant to expand on his statement at breakfast about stopping the world, she'd done very well at resisting the urge to bring it back up. But now she just couldn't help herself. A slightly awkward silence had fallen between them when she asked, "So where were you? Summer of 1899, I mean. That is, if you… If you don't mind…"

"Manhattan," he answered with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders.

He didn't seem to mind that she'd asked, so she went on. "So then you would've seen the protest on the Brooklyn Bridge. The one that stopped all traffic in and out of the city?"

This elicited a slight chuckle. "Yeah."

"What was it like?"

Spades leaned back and gazed at the ceiling, a small smile playing on his lips. "What a day dat was," he mused. "Lotta pushin' and' screamin'. Mush got a little too excited, elbowed me in da eye. I had a real nice shiner for a couple days afta dat. An' den Boots almost fell clear off da bridge. It's a good thing Spot was dere to grab me, or we both woulda gone over. Dat kid was a lot heavier'n he looked…"

Kitty could hardly believe her ears. She'd been researching the newspaper strike for a History paper. But to hear someone talking about these kids she'd found mentioned in old newspaper articles as if he'd known them, grew up with them… Well, it was doing nothing to curb her curiosity. "Wait, you were actually a _part_ of it?" He nodded, a little self-consciously. "'Stopped the world'. That's what you meant, isn't it? You stopped the _New York World_."

"Yeah. Dere's been a lotta changes 'round here since den." With this statement, the light that had leapt into his eyes with talk of the strike abruptly went out. His own kind of curiosity seemed to take over then, because he turned back to her and asked, "How did _you_ know 'bout da strike?"

"American History. Worst class in the world," she groaned. "I'm doing a research paper."

"Dat so? Well I t'ink ya may've found yer most reliable source."

"Really? You'd help me?" A shy smile crept across her face. It was almost too good to be true.

"Sure, why not? Might even help me… Ya know, come ta terms wit' some things." Again the light in his eyes dimmed, but only momentarily as he dove right back into his story of the Brooklyn Bridge rally.

* * *

_It took both Scott and Kurt to hold the kid back. He was small, but flailing every which way in a frenzied desperation. The object of his focus? Logan. There was murder in his eyes._

_Storm had brought this kid in off the streets of the Bronx two days ago, and the minute he'd learned what Logan's mutation was, he lunged at him with a snarl, shouting and cursing and whipping his arms in a frantic grab for his throat. Obviously the kid wanted to kill him, but Logan didn't have a clue as to why. He'd never set eyes on the little Italian boy before._

"_C'mere, ya dirty rotten scumbag," he was shouting. "I'll soak ya! I'll knock yer head clean off! Thought you'd slip away, huh? Leave me out in da cold and go on livin' yer rotten, miserable life. Yer a liar! A liar, Mark, ya hear? An' I'm gonna kill ya. I'll rip ya apart wit' me own two hands if it takes me da rest'a my life. I don't care how much healin' ya's gonna do, I swear I'll rip yer head off yer shoulders. Dey t'rew me out, Mark. T'rew me out! Ya coulda done somethin'. Ya coulda stood up fer me. But ya didn't! Too selfish ta say anythin'. I knew what ya were. An' I never once ratted ya out. You owed me fer dat! Ain't da only one dat knew, either. Ever t'ink maybe ya weren't as careful 'bout it as ya t'ought? Remember Davey's little brudder? Da one dat went missin'? He knew! He knew 'bout us both, an' he never ratted on us neither! We was s'posed ta stick togedder, ya schizophrenic bastard! I swear, I'm gonna kill ya! I'm gonna kill ya, even if it kills me ta do it! Ya pathetic, melodramatic, egotistical, arrogant, pessimistic sonuva- I'll kill ya!"_

_With a shriek, the kid broke loose and lunged at Logan's throat…_

Logan awoke with a start to find himself safely – and alone – in his room. _Just a dream_, he thought with relief. Well, mostly a dream. With a sigh, he pushed himself up to his feet and shuffled to the door. There wouldn't be any going back to sleep anytime soon. Might as well walk it off.

When he reached the back patio outside the rec room, he struck a match with every intention of lighting his cigar, but jumped when the brief flame illuminated a second figure in the dark. The light went out abruptly, but not before he'd got a good look at the face that was staring back at him, just as startled. "Jeez, kid," he muttered, catching his breath. "What are you doin' up so late?"

"Couldn't sleep," Spades shrugged as he settled himself back down on the step. Logan took out a second cigar and handed it to him as he also sat down, pulling out another match. He expected Spades to reciprocate the question. He didn't. After a moment of silently puffing at his cigar, the Italian turned to him. "Sorry 'bout da nightmare," he said calmly.

Logan gave him a quizzical stare. "How do you…"

"Lucky guess." Spades shrugged again. "You's easy to read. 'Sides, if some kid I didn't know tried to kill me fer no good reason, I'd be havin' nightmares too."

There was another moment of silence before Logan smiled and shook his head. This kid was going to take some getting used to. "So," he said at last. "Who's Mark?"

"Lyin' bastard." Spades took a long drag of his cigar, and when his answer didn't seem to satisfy his companion, he took a deep breath. "No one of consequence. Just some guy I had a beef wit'."

"A pretty sizable one, at that, given the fact that you were ready to take my head off."

Spades gave a hollow chuckle and leaned back some. "He was s'posed to be my friend," he said bitterly. "We was family. Me an' him, we was close. An' he was like you. Invincible." He shook his head and gave his soft, hollow laugh again. "Cold-hearted bastard, only lookin' out fer hisself."

"What'd he do?"

"Don't matter. 'Sides, it was more'a what he _didn't_ do." When no more information than this seemed to be forthcoming, Logan shrugged and returned to his cigar. The two of them smoked together in silence for a few more minutes before Spades changed the subject. "Dat Kitty," he said slowly, "she's a real nice girl."

Logan smiled. "Yeah, she is. You like her?"

Spades just shook his head. "I dunno. I… well, I haven't had da best luck wit' girls…"

"She likes you," Logan offered.

Again, Spades shook his head. "Not what I meant. I don't got much luck wit' _keepin'_ a girl. Dere was dis one, she was real pretty an' sweet an' all. Soon's she found out, ya know, what was wrong wit' me, she… Well, she hit me an' she screamed at me, an' she called me all kinds'a things. I t'ink 'freak' was her favorite one."

"It ain't an impossible situation, kid. I mean, there's people out there who understand, and Kitty's one of us."

With a deep sigh, Spades leaned his head all the way back and stared up at the star-studded sky. "Dere was one t'ought she could un'erstand. T'ought she could deal wit' it. Five years went by, we was gonna be married. But she was changin' an' I weren't. So she left. She tried, she did. Dere was just too much tension." He closed his eyes and ran a hand through his thick, dark hair. "I just ain't got da luck for it."

"Thought you were lucky."

"I _am_ lucky. Dat's da point." He sighed again as he sat up, waving his cigar around as he tried to find an explanation. "See, primarily I's lucky. It matches my personality. But part'a bein' lucky is dat I ended up wit' a… Whaddaya call it? Secondary mutation. Lucky weren't helpin' me ta survive. Well, it was an' it wasn't."

"I'm not sure I follow, Race."

"I ain't been called dat in a long time," Spades mused. Then he shrugged. "I usedta sell papers for a livin'. Before all'a dis. Ragged newspaper boys hawkin' headlines on da street corner fer a dime a day. Older ya get, da harder it is to sell. I's already gettin' too old fer sellin' papes when… when it happened. Luckily, I didn't age no more afta dat. I's able to hold out a little longer. Den t'ings in da city started changin', an'… Well, dey didn't need us no more. We started havin' ta get other jobs. Me personally, I had a hard time holdin' one down fer more'n a few years at a time. Most people don't like freaks workin' for 'em."

"We're not freaks," Logan said softly, puffing thoughtfully on his cigar. "We're just different. Most people can't accept that."

Spades nodded his agreement, leaning his elbows on his knees. "So what's yer story?"

"Don't remember."

"What, like none of it?"

"Bits and pieces. Some of it comes back to me every now and then, but I lost my memory several years ago, so it's real hazy. Best I can figure, I'm a bit older than you."

"How ya figure dat?"

Logan shrugged. "Cuz I remember meetin' a kid in the war. World War II, I think it was. I remember he was like me, with the healing and all. Real skittish kid, always lookin' over his shoulder like something was coming to get him. I remember him and I would go on decoy missions together, cuz we couldn't be hurt. He was fast, too. Real fast."

A dark scowl came across the little Italian's face, and Logan was sure he could see a trace of the same murder in his eyes he'd had the day they'd met. "What was his name," he asked, strangely calm despite his obvious tension.

"Don't remember," Logan replied. "Just remember we used to call him Target."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Okay, again Target is not mine. But I hope you like him anyway. Or don't... I can't decide if I want you to like him or not. Anyhow, you'll probably get to meet him next chapter, and hopefully we'll see more of Skip too. Man, I'm excited! Anyway, hope you liked it, and please review!


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